Madness In Kind
by OhSoOriginal
Summary: A woman who is sure that she is insane runs into the prison group just after the Governors attack. Is she as crazy as she thinks? As the group struggles whether or not to accept her and and vice versa, her inner battle leads her to find that maybe everyone is crazy...maybe everyone has a madness in kind.
1. Chapter 1

I didn't know how long it had been since "the outbreak" had happened. I heard a low growl but paid it no mind; I heard the noises all the time now-even when there was nothing there. Sometimes I'm concerned that I'm losing what's left of my sanity. When people go crazy do they just snap? Or is it some hellish downward spiral that slowly rips away the last happy moments you can remember? Do you feel insanity sneaking up on you? Do you try to run? The thought almost made me laugh but it never escaped my lips; you can't run away from your own mind. I didn't even have a name anymore, it didn't make sense to have one when there was no one around to call you by it. Maybe...maybe that was a mistake, maybe when I decided to lose myself I became susceptible to madness.

It was only when a decaying hand managed to wrap around my shoulder that I realized the growl I had heard earlier was real. I snapped out my my switchblade and whirled, coming face to face with yet another growler. As it lunged toward my face I slammed my knife into its eye socket, keeping a tight grip on the handle as the dead man fell, slowly releasing the blade to me. I shook my head and stumbled away-where there was one there was bound to be more. Those things were like cockroaches, I wonder if they could survive a nuclear holocaust as well. I shrugged to myself and then chose a random direction and began walking, once again losing myself in thought. As I wiped my knife on my threadbare cotton shorts I gave another snort inside my head. I wasn't a professional by any means, but I knew the brand 'benchmark' on the blade meant it was more than likely military issued. The men I had won these from didn't even see it coming. I flipped the somewhat clean knife shut and shoved it into my pocket alongside its match. I had two other knives that were labeled busse rigged onto each thigh by way of a cut and stitched bra (it had rubber or something on the inside of it...made it keep from slipping as much) and a whole ton of duct tape. They jostled more than usual as I walked and it irritated me. It meant I had lost even more weight and that I would have to find more tape and redo the makeshift sheaths or risk losing them.

I hated to go anywhere that had a chance of live people. I used to think that people were inherently good, that if just given a chance and opportunity they would better the world around them. I was wrong of course. People are not inherently anything. They just are. Everyone starts the same and ends the same-it was the choices in-between that made you "good" or "bad". My theory of giving people a chance was blown out of the water by the first living I had encountered after the dead began walking. Maybe that was when I started to crack, the first hairline fracture in what would become a multitude, and an eventual descent into psycho-ville. Have you ever heard the saying not to corner a frightened dog? I was the dog and I was terrified. I still don't really know what happened that day. I remember them approaching me with knives, the thought screaming through me that they had lied and I was a fool, and then, suddenly, nothing. My next full memory was full of red. There was blood everywhere, the walls, the floor, the men...myself. They were dead and I was glad, I think I was even somewhat proud. I understood psychology, I knew that I was justified and it was ok to feel that way. It was normal not to feel remorse for those that were going to harm you. Only...I was fairly certain there should be at least a sliver of guilt. Instead of respecting the dead I looted them, taking everything but the guns...I didn't like guns. I didn't like people anymore either.

It was odd how the silence didn't bother me...it used to. In the beginning, after I had killed those men, I talked to myself. Something to pass the time, keep my humanity, and remind myself that I was still here. Turns out when you talk to yourself not only do you attract growlers; you also can't hear them coming. I stopped talking to myself. It was a gradual progression from there, I started singing-it attracted them-I stopped. A light hum? Same thing. I kept perfectly quiet now; I wasn't even sure what my voice sounded like anymore. Was it low and sultry? Or high and grating? What did a laugh sound like? I hear screams all the time; there was no need to wonder what they sounded like. Did I have a girlish giggle? I don't remember giggling. In fact, it was hard to remember anything from before. Maybe that is when a person is classified as insane? When they became content to be nameless, faceless, silent wraiths. When they were ok with losing everything that had once defined them.

I stumbled, barely catching myself before I fell face first into a ditch. I was exhausted and it showed. The growlers were starting to thicken and it concerned me. I hadn't been clean since the beginning and I know that at least one winter had passed. I was permanently covered in gore. I considered the growler from the woods a fluke, it had been a long time since I had been sought out like that. Although they were ignoring me now they wouldn't be for too long-especially if they kept up what was starting to look like a swarm. I heard shouts ahead, and I started cursing inside. It was impossible to turn away without alerting the dead. There were shouts and screams and it was inevitable that I was going to come upon the living once again. Shots rang out and I felt my mouth form a sneer. Guns were for idiots, causing more problems then they solved. I tried to breathe steady, not wanting to attract attention until I was ready for it. There was a man almost cornered into a fence by growlers. I would not help him. I never helped the people that I was unfortunate enough to know were there. But, seeing as there was no way I could get away without being stuck to the fence as well or eaten, I could at least kill some growlers. None that were going for the man of course. They were free to kill as they pleased.

I slowly came to a stop, grabbing the bosse knives off of my thighs as stealthily as possible. And then I started. One knife in each hand I worked though puncturing sculls as quickly as possible. It wasn't rocket science after all. Deep enough, hard enough to the head and they would die, not deep or hard enough? Well then _you_ die. I knew there should be some sexual innuendo worked into my previous thought but I was too distracted. Two men rushed past me and I flinched, barely keeping a grip on my knives...that was way too close for comfort. The two men quickly dispatched what was left of the dead, and then for some god awful reason they turned to stare at me. They were talking and it hurt my ears. It had been so long since I had heard a voice, even longer since I had heard one other than my own, that their rushed and frantic speech hit my ears like a buzzing hornets nest. I struggled to open my eyes, not even realizing that I had closed them, and was met with the first moral dilemma that I actually recognized as such. First, I was met by striking blue eyes, flanked by what appeared to be his own redneck bodyguards. Second, three feet behind the men, a growler was shambling along a few seconds away from having a snack. I could run away. The thoughts floated in and quickly out of my mind in an instant. Maybe this was my chance to prove to myself that I wasn't as morally bankrupt as I felt. I threw my knife, hoping to god it would hit what it was supposed to. I felt...relief as the rotting carcass fell, my knife protruding from its head. And then more emotions flooded in. I was relived, prideful, on so many levels, not only about the throw but also about myself, my sanity, and that shred of moral compass I apparently still had left. I was scared as well, the men were talking and shouting and it was all jumbling and getting muddled in my brain. And then to my relief I felt familiar anger coursing its way through my body. Anger was good at drowning out other emotions, at least for a little while. Ignoring the men and forcing myself not to flinch I stomped past them and yanked my knife out of the growler, wiping it quickly before placing it in the sheath. As I moved to pass the men again, desperate to get back into the woods, away from this madness (I had enough of my own to deal with after all) a voice registered seconds before I felt a hand grab my arm.

"Tha fuck-" One of the men started to speak but it was too late.

My knife was at his throat cutting off whatever he was going to say. I was tense and trembling, ready to cut him open when the two others moved. One to point a crossbow at me-I raised my eyebrows in reluctant approval, at least this man had enough sense not to use a gun. The other was blue eyes and he moved to place one arm in front of the crossbow wielding man, the other raised, palm out to me. The universal "I come in peace" gesture. I chanced a look to access the man who's life was hanging in the balance and jerked, accidentally causing a thin line of blood to form under my blade. He only had one hand. The man with the crossbow was shouting again and the man I held had joined in the fray and the buzzing in my head started up again, getting louder and louder till I felt like my eardrums were on the verge of exploding. Once again I tore my eyes open not knowing when they had shut and once again I was met by blue eyes. The grip on my knife slackened just a tad, it was enough. If I lived I would never again underestimate people missing body parts. They weren't handicapped, far from it-to survive in this world they were superhuman. I was flipped over and landed hard on my back, the air leaving my lungs in a desperate huff. And then I was cuffed by that one handed asshole straight in my temple. My last conscious thoughts ignored the self satisfied leer on his face and instead, concentrated on why I had given my knife slack. Blue eyes flashed into my mind and I was hit with a startling thought: he was as crazy as me.


	2. Chapter 2

When I woke it was to almost complete darkness and for a fraction of a second I believed that I was safe. I was home. It hit like a ton of bricks-I had no home. Whatever I had had before the outbreak was nothing but the most distant of memories, barely a drop in the bucket compared to the past years worth of them. A thin glow of light surrounding a small lantern stood past not one, but two gated and locked jail cell doors. I needed out of here! I couldn't stand to be caged, to be locked up like some sort of animal, just like I had been when I got my knives. My knives! My hands flew around my body searching frantically to no avail- my knives had been taken.

I was terrified. Instead of kicking the door to the cell, sure to draw someone-or what used to be someone, I found myself backing into a corner in-between the cell wall and a set of bunk beds. I wrapped my arms around my body tightly, and began to rock back and forth almost frantically. I tried to find something happy to concentrate on but I couldn't. Even the thought of the home I wasn't even sure was real did nothing but taunt me with the knowledge that I would never have that again. Maybe I never did. I was breathing too fast and the slight view of my cell began to spin. It didn't matter. I wanted to pass out. Maybe, when I woke this time, my surroundings would have changed again.

. . .

To my disappointment I did not wake up somewhere new, even if it was daylight now. I stood slowly trying not to draw attention from the people I could see milling about the large room outside my cell, only to make an audible hissing noise as I pulled my bloody fingers from my arms. I apparently squeezed too hard.

"Ya up now ya little cunt?" A familiar mans voice sounded outside the cell and I jerked back quickly, once again seeking refuge in the space behind the bed.

Another man interrupted what I'm sure was going to be an eloquent stream of curses and insults strung together and flung at me. "Shut up Merle. Always makin' shit worse'n it needs to be." He grumbled as he came into sight-it was the man with the crossbow.

"C'mon now Darylina, way I see it this here bitch owes me a little. Busted my neck up, tried ta kill me, ain't nothin' wrong with a lil' eh, retribution." Sneered the man I now knew as Merle.

"Maybe that cut's retribution for lettin' a lil' girl get a knife on ya." He sounded angry but I swear there was the shadow of a smirk. Or maybe that was just wishful thinking.

"Keep ya mouth shut boy-" Merle started.

"She up?" A holler cut through the room.

It was loud. The buzzing started again. Somehow I had managed to watch these two men argue with slight amusement but the shout had now put me on edge. I tried to squeeze myself further into the concrete as I wondered vaguely if insanity came and went. Did the body and mind get tired of being crazy and take a brief reprieve, giving you moments of lucidity before crashing in again to take it all? I'm certain I could be a case study in different stages and types of psychoses. Well, if the world was somehow right again. But of course I probably would have never developed any type of mental issue then. Oh, well, the circle continues I guess.

Blue eyes was back. I couldn't bring myself to care too much. He tried to speak to me but the buzzing was growing louder by the second. I put my hands over my ears foolishly, as if to try and block the sounds only I could hear. The cell door clanking open was the only clear sound that broke through the buzzing and I shot out of the door. For a moment I felt like speedy gonzales on crack. I was that fast. And for a moment I felt free. Just as quick as the feelings of euphoria and freedom came they were gone. I had yet another locked door to get through and the likelihood of that happening without me being in a body bag was slim to none. I stopped and prepared to slide down the still locked cell doors in defeat when I was unceremoniously slammed onto my back on the hard cement.

Shockingly it was blue eyes; his crazy was more evident now. I'm not sure how long we sat there, me, staring up lifelessly wondering if this was how I was doomed to die, and him, staring down at me with too much going on behind those eyes. I doubt he even realized he was slowly strangling me. It was ok though, I think that given the circumstances, being choked was at least a better way to go than being ripped apart and eaten. It felt like ages before my vision began to dim, and then, suddenly, air was rushing back into my lungs at an alarming pace. I wondered if there were some sort of guidelines to follow after you almost suffocate. I knew that when you were starving you had to take it slow when you finally got food again or you'd be sick. How utterly ironic it would be if it was the same for air. Of course I knew it was a stupid thought, but it flitted through my brain nonetheless, bringing a slight grin to my lips. It was nice to know I still had the capability to smile, even if it was barely evident.

In retrospect I don't think anyone took much notice of me at that moment. An elderly man on crutches and an older woman with closely cropped grey hair huddled by me, somehow managing to get me to stand. I had thought people would see that I was just as crazy as the man who had just tried to kill me but I was once again proven wrong. As the two supported my body weight they stared in horror at the man. The only other thought I had, besides wondering if I was indeed crazy was there any way to hide it, was the surreal knowledge that I was letting these people touch me. Maybe it was the lack of oxygen wreaking havoc on my poor abused brain but I couldn't muster up the energy to care. I was carefully led back to the cell and somewhere, locked in a similar cage in my head I was screaming because of it. On the outside though I was completely complacent.

...

Hours had passed and I could tell that my silence was beginning to make people uncomfortable...and piss some of them off. The elderly man that had helped me earlier was discussing me in low tones with blue eyes or Rick, as he had introduced himself as. It seemed as though the entire group save a woman named Carol, was discussing me and sending me furtive glances. Rick, Merle, and the crossbow wielding man named Daryl (_not_ Darylina) were throwing me open hostile looks. I suppose I couldn't blame them; I was throwing them as well. Rick had stormed out of my cell after he introduced himself, angered by the lack of conversation. I picked up bits of the talk surrounding me.

"We don't know anything about her-she could be the Governors spy for all we know!" Rick seethed.

There were murmurs of agreement before a black woman spoke. "She's not."

"And we're jus' supposed to take your word on that?" Daryl lashed out.

She glared at him before facing Merle. "Tell them."

I was confused. They didn't know anything about me so what could this man have to say that would convince them I wasn't some sort of spy?

Merle spoke with obvious reluctance. "Mi'shone's right. She ain't never been to Woodbury." He glared over at my cell with crossed arms. "Don't mean we should trust her though. Y'all don't have ta listen, I know ya don't trust me. But at best she ain't nothin' but a body eatin' up food and medical supplies tha' I'm sure ya can't spare."

Well, when it was put like that I could definitely see the logic in throwing me back outside the prison walls. Listen to me, logic, as if I really grasped the concept of that at this point. I knew that I wanted out of this cage though. If they were going to throw me out, well, that was just fine with me. As if reading my thoughts Carol spoke.

"I'm begging you to talk honey. They aren't just going to let you out, not now that you know we're here." Her eyes pleaded with me as she reached to touch my shoulder. I flinched and jerked away, and she looked at me with an odd understanding as she nodded. "They won't let you walk away if they decide you're not safe." She reached out her hand again and I braced myself, preparing to evade her touch when she seemed to remember-it was obvious I didn't like to be touched. She let her hand fall limply to her side and gave me a small watery smile. "I understand." She said simply and then walked away.

I was left staring after her in confusion. What, exactly, did she think she understood? And why would she offer any advice? I had experienced first hand what survivors did to survive, what they did to each other...what was her angle? It wasn't until Hershel sat down with me for lunch that I conceded to Carols point. I wouldn't have let me live; much less walk away. If they had any brains they would kill me. Hershel thanked a young blonde girl as she set down food for two and walked away. I got a better look at him now and I realized the reason for his crutches. I almost rolled my eyes until my gaze landed on the faint outline of a gun strapped to the thigh of his missing half a leg. I berated myself silently-never underestimate people with missing body parts. That's what got me stuck in here in the first place.

Hershel gave a slight chuckle as he followed my line of sight to his thigh. "Why check a man with only one leg? After all its not like I can hide a weapon in my shoe."

I gave a small grin that I'm sure came off as a grimace and he just stared at me intently. I couldn't remember the last time that I felt self conscious but this man seemed to stare right through me, straight into my soul, if I had one that is. I wasn't convinced. I worried that he was going to see the madness I felt so desperate to keep under wraps. That he was going to alert the others. In some strange way it made sense to me that if I could clean my outward appearance no one would be able to see the inside. That was what I thought anyway, I can't explain any better than that. Maybe my feelings are irrational and only serve to confirm my self diagnosed insanity.

"So young lady," Hershel spoke startling me out of my thoughts. "Are you going to let us know if we can trust you or are you going to let those men take you out with a bullet?"

He spoke quite frankly and I appreciated it. The contempt I held for guns also had me appreciating the irony of being taken out by a bullet. It was an intense internal struggle, deciding whether or not to speak. I was ready to die only hours ago as I was being choked, yet for some reason I still wanted to survive? I hadn't spoken in so long I worried that the mere action of voicing anything would start a swarm of growlers on me. It was preposterous I know but still, the main reason I had become silent was sound. Noise attracted growlers. I didn't even want to stay with these people, I just wanted to get away. I knew I had to decide. _Right now, in this moment, what did I want?_ I could feel the buzzing in my ears begin to grow as I opened my mouth.

An unintelligible croak scraped its way out of my throat followed by "-alk." And wheezy hacking noises. I had apparently underestimated what not making a sound for that length of time would do to my vocal cords. Hershel quickly handed me a bottle of water which I drank with gusto, spilling a good portion of it in my haste. I can't say my clumsiness, at that moment anyway, bothered me in the least.

"So you _can_ talk." He stated more to himself than anything as he eyed me speculatively. At my affirmative nod he started to stand. "I'll just go grab...Daryl then." He must have seen the look of pure panic on my face because he sighed and shook his head. "I'll send Carol in here to take you to a table out there after I've spoken to him. I'll be there to alright?"

It wasn't really a question but I nodded anyway. Were they as crazy as me? Why would they send me to speak to a man who obviously wanted nothing more to kill me? He constantly looked ready to put a bolt in my head and it wasn't exactly comforting. Then again, nothing about this situation was. I had to reassure myself as Carol came to get me. This was my only way out that didn't end in death. Carol reached out to me and I threw myself away from her. I needed to pay attention to my surroundings, I mussed as the buzzing in my head was replaced with a throbbing pain that made me slightly nauseous. Something warm and sticky slid into my eye as I leaned against the bed frame I had decided to bash my head into. The sound of footsteps rushing toward the cell and shouts had me wondering if I could somehow disappear.

Carols voice broke over the noise. "It was my fault! She doesn't like to be touched, I forgot."

Muttering responses came and went but I couldn't focus on them. When had I become this scared meek little mouse? It was this cage in part I'm almost positive. After all, I had almost sliced Merle's neck open...and I would have. Fantastic turn of events this was. I could have run but noo. I had to prove to myself that even if I was crazy I still was human, I still had to have some empathy left right?

"Hey!" Fingers snapped in front of my face and I realized I was sitting at a table in a corner, Hershel and Daryl across from me, and Daryl's fingers snapping. "'M talkin' to ya." He barked out.

I jerked backwards again, slamming my chair against the wall. Did these people not understand that I didn't want them near me or were they just plain sadistic? I clenched my fists so hard that I was leaving small crescent shaped lines of blood. Which reminded me... I reached up and slowly wiped the blood from above my eye all the while glaring at Daryl.

Hershel placed his hand on Daryl's shoulder as if to calm him. I caught the tail end of Hershel's little talk. "-like to be touched. I'm sure you can understand that."

Obviously not, I huffed to myself as I crossed my arms. I watched as Daryl gritted his teeth and nodded.

"Hershel said you wanted to talk, so talk." He ground out, looking like the effort of being somewhat civil was literally causing him pain.

I nodded my head and looked towards Hershel who gave me an encouraging smile. "I'm-" the word itself startled me. It came out clear, if a little hesitant and I pushed on, staring at the table. "I'm not...not stupid. If you're going to...kill me...just...just do it fast. I wan-nt," I stumbled over my words, not really sure how to get so many out in one go. "Can I...can I get clean-first. I...I'd kinda like to remember what I..." I trailed off helplessly, gesturing to myself as I tried to get my point across. "Before I die anyway."

Both men looked shocked, as if they hadn't expected me to address my death so abruptly. Why was that? Death _was_ abrupt. There was nothing subtle about it anymore, no dying of old age or in your sleep. That was a pipe dream, nothing more.

"Rick ain't gonna like it." Daryl spoke to Hershel as I came back to the conversation.

"You and I both know Ricks...having a hard time. She's in no condition to be thrown back in the woods and I'll not be a part of the murder of a little girl." Hershel spoke with such conviction that a part of me was enthralled when he talked. Of course then I heard him call me a little girl. Was twenty-seven that young? Before, maybe...now, I'm certain it might be considered the average age. I think that's how old I am anyway, although maybe that was last year?

Daryl ran a hand through his hair, tugging a bit as he gave me a quick glance. I assume that I look disgusting if the look on his face is anything to go by. He sighed. "See if Maggie and Carol will take her to the showers. She goes nowhere alone; straight there straight back to the cell. I gotta go talk to Rick." He mumbled the last part so I assume he wasn't happy to let Rick know I was at least staying long enough to shower.

Carol rushed over and I froze in my chair. She looked like she was about to leap at me just so she could envelop me in a bear hug. Don't get me wrong, I didn't mind her, but if she jumped at me like that I just might attempt to snap her neck. And I honestly think I might feel a bit bad for it. Instead, she screeched to a halt and beamed at me only looking away to receive instructions from Hershel. A young woman named Maggie with short brown hair was called over and soon enough I was being escorted to the showers.

"I's a bad idea, lettin' some psycho kid stay here." Merle spat as we passed him.

I stiffened immediately and to my shock so did Maggie. I said nothing just glared up at him when I noticed the bandage across his neck. Did I cut him that badly or was he just a baby? I looked back up and smirked; he knew what I was looking at. I put out my lip in a pout and rubbed at my throat, almost laughing aloud as he turned a molted red. Just as he opened his mouth a young boy walked up holding a freakin gun.

"Dad says I'll take you guys to the showers." He spoke with such self assurance and authority that I was jealous.

Everyone was holding guns and looking on edge. I didn't understand why. They all thought that I was a child and they knew I was unarmed; were they afraid that I would kill someone before an entire room full of people got a shot off? My thoughts occupied me all the way to the shower. The boy stayed outside the doors which made me feel relieved and...worried I guess? Maggie explained that they had cleared this area but Carl would keep watch just in case.

True to instructions the two women didn't stray far from me and I didn't like it. I felt suffocated and I had to keep reminding myself that at least I was out of the cell. A large plastic mirror was secured to the wall and it was obvious from the way it warped that it was old. I took a quick glimpse at myself and quickly walked away with wide eyes. I looked horrible, with or without the warped mirror I could see that. I was pretty sure that my hair had been brown at one point but now it was a dark matted mess. The long lost sensation of hair brushing along my lower back was certainly lost. Aside from that I was covered in layers of brown and rusted red. The only thing that looked even remotely normal were the pair of slightly slanted grey eyes, and somehow the brightness of my eyes made the rest of me look even more sickly.

I paid the other women no mind as I stripped, suddenly discouraged by my appearance, I ignored the shocked gasps upon discovering I was no child. I hadn't cared when I had forgotten what I looked like, it hadn't seemed important. In all honesty it probably wasn't, vanity wasn't something that people could afford nowadays anyway. I tried to comfort myself as the cold stream of water hit me and began washing away the gore and grime. I watched the discolored water swirl down the drain until it was mostly clear and then moved to stand in front of the mirror again wincing, as Carol stood behind me. I had been wrong about my hair; it was almost black I think.

"I...well, we don't have anything that's going to fit you right." Carol said hesitantly. Obviously. I was shorter than everyone but Carl; I'm not even sure I hit the five foot mark.

I looked at the floor as I silently put on the clothes that were much too large for me. I didn't even have a bra and I'm sure my clothes were not going to be salvageable. "Can I cut my hair...please." I asked softly. This experience was...humbling at the very least. The two women shared a glance and Maggie reluctantly pulled out a knife causing me to back against the mirror quickly.

Her mouth was set in a grim line as she eyed me. "Don't make me regret this." She turned the knife handle out and held it to me.

My eyes widened in surprise. "Thank you." I turned to look at the mirror. My hair had been pulled into a ponytail tight at the base of my skull and a giant gnarled mess had formed around the hair tie. Without giving myself time to reconsider I reached back and yanked the knife through my mangled hair just above the pony. The result was a slightly shaved section at the back of my head, sharply slanting down towards my face, much like Maggie's. Of course mine was longer in the front and much more jagged. I shrugged and handed the knife back to her.

Carol winced as I turned, her eyes glued to the blue and purple handprints around my neck. I put my hand up to them and shook my head at her. "It's alright." I said softly. "He didn't understand."

We walked out the door to Carl and headed back to the dreaded cell. The conversation in the room ended abruptly as we walked in and I froze. Everyone was staring at me and I didn't like it. Something fell and made a loud clanking noise and just like that the buzzing was back. I scrambled backwards eager to escape from all the noise, all the people, only to run into someone's hard body behind me. Without thinking I angled my elbow up as high as it would go and slammed it into my assailants stomach. I heard a grunt behind me as I connected and felt a knife swinging in a sheath. It was in my hand quickly and I turned to face the person behind me. It was Daryl...and he looked pissed...maybe a little surprised, but pissed just the same.

I dropped the knife quickly and looked at the floor. "I-I'm sorry...I...you scared me."

Still he said nothing. Swooping down to grab the stolen knife he glared at me through narrowed eyes, giving a quick glance at my neck and eye. "Just...just get in yer cell dammit." He snarled and stomped around me.

Well, if elbowing one of the men in charge and stealing his knife didn't convince these people that I wasnt crazy, I didn't know what would. I just realized that I'm even sarcastic in my head, and for some reason this makes me not want to be alone with me. Can you imagine the things a mind can come up with, with only itself for company?

...

**A/N- Whew, that felt like a long chapter! Just a heads up, from now on the chapters are going to have A LOT more character interaction! We'll still have our as of yet unnamed girls thoughts though. (I just realized I haven't named her yet. My bad lol, I promise to do that in the next chapter!) Thanks for reading and reviewing!**

**-OhSoOriginal**


	3. Meetings All Around

**A/N- Wow! I have to say a giant thank you to everyone who has even taken the time to read this- let alone fave, follow, and review! I'm truly humbled by you all. I have to say, I really thought I wouldn't have very many readers because this story is kind of different. Thank you all for sticking with it so far, and I hope you enjoy this next chapter.**

**-OhSoOriginal**

**. . .**

I was still in my cell after that little fiasco with Daryl when shouts erupted and rang all around the room. I was squeezed back in "my" spot between the wall and bed so I couldn't really see what was going on but boy could I hear it.

"You don't get to make these calls!" Rick (I think) shouted.

"It's obvious you're in no condition to make them son. You need time, it's ok." Hershel spoke obviously trying to diffuse the situation.

"Not. Your. Call." Rick reiterated.

"I'm telling you Rick, you chase her off like the last group that was here, or worse, put her down like you were talking about I'm washing my hands of this and you. You are not judge, jury, and executioner."

"After the last time we let survivors stay. You just expect me to let her waltz in here and stay to?" Rick was still shouting and it was beginning to hurt my ears.

"S'not like she jus' 'waltzed in here'. Jus' sayin'." So now Daryl had joined the fray. At least he wasn't shouting.

"I'm not saying she has to stay, I'm saying she should have a chance. You can't go around killing people that you don't know pose a threat!" Hershel's voice was growing louder.

"And I'm saying it's not your call!" Ricks shouting was becoming redundant.

"It should be everyone's." Said Hershel quietly.

"Oh, come on!" Suddenly people were screaming and I think I may have heard someone say 'not again' but all thoughts quickly flew from my mind as I saw Rick fly in front of the cell, gun drawn. "Y'all are tellin' me you're ok taking a chance like this? She could kill us all in our sleep! How would you feel knowing you let in the man that would KILL YOUR PEOPLE!?"

I could see his gun, well really his whole body, shaking as he rubbed at his eyes. When he referred to me as a man I got the feeling that this wasn't really about me after all. I stood slowly and walked toward him, ignoring everything else. Later, I would realize that through all of that I didn't hear the buzzing once, but right now I wanted to see his crazy. He was snapping that much was sure, but what made him snap? Maybe it was the fact that he was crazy like me but I didn't feel any fear as I walked up to the bars.

I looked past the gun- it wasn't important, and stared at Rick curiously. He honestly seemed confused but I had no idea what about. "It's ok." I whispered for his ears only. "I'd kill me to." I gave him what I'm sure was a maniacal grin before I placed my head on the barrel that was peeking through the bars.

Suddenly Rick threw himself backwards looking at me and the gun in a cross of horror and rage. Daryl swiftly snatched the gun out of Ricks hand and pocketed it before turning to me.

"What's the matter with you? You got a death wish? Cause I sure as hell ain't puttin' my neck on the line for some lil' kid that wants to die." He snarled bringing his face close to the bars.

I leaned back onto the bed shaking my head with that crazy grin still on my lips and closed my eyes.

. . .

I must have fallen asleep because the next thing I knew Merle was standing outside what I was beginning to think of as my cage. Oddly enough the cell doors that most of the time frightened me made me feel safe in instances like this. I cracked open an eye, able to convince myself to stay calm as he leered in at me.

"Guess ya ain't such a l'il girl after all." He said licking his lips. He looked taken aback when I didn't answer, but continued anyway. "Where'd ya get them knives from? They military issue, righ'?"

The question had me going stiff on the bed, and a massive roaring filled my ears. I'm not sure what happened but the next thing I knew I was huddled back in my little spot, head on my knees, crying silently. My right hand was sore and people were shouting at each other, at Merle, at me.

"Bitch jus' went crazy! I didn't do shit!" Merle was shouting.

"Yeah, she just up and decided to punch the biggest asshole here for no reason." Scoffed an asian kid I hadn't heard speak before.

"He triggered her." Michonne's voice floated over the chaos like steel velvet. I don't even think that makes any sense to be honest but that's what she sounds like to me.

I heard who I think was Hershel sigh heavily and Daryl snap out a "The hell you talkin' about?"

Hershel took over for Michonne. "A trigger. She's got something that more than likely traumatized her that her brain couldn't handle. I'm guessing something got her back into the mentality that she was in when whatever it was happened to her."

"We should help her!" Carol exclaimed worriedly, footsteps rushing towards my cage had me clutching my legs harder.

"No!" Hershel's voice was harsh. "We don't know what she'll do or what triggered it. We need to figure this out first. What were you doing when it happened?"

"Didn't do-" Merle started but Hershel was having none of it.

"Son, you've got a nice bruise blooming on your jaw there. Lets just cut down to it, for everyone's safety."

"Fuck ol' man! All I said was she weren't no li'l girl an' I asked her about them knives she had! God damn psycho went AWOL an' ran at the door!"

Merle sounded... aggravated. It's no wonder; apparently I really am crazy...and dangerous. Are situations like this catalysts for insanity? Where an individual realizes that they are dangerous and hurt people without trying or remembering? I thought I was just a run of the mill crazy, not a kill everyone around me crazy. Sure, I had killed those men...but they came at me first. Merle...Merle was just...conversing... I think. I don't think he was much of a people person.

As a child I imagined him in the sandbox all alone because after all, if you didn't play by his rules, you were out. Did I mention that the rules were subject to change at any moment though? Strangely the little show I put on in my head for 'highlights of Merle Whats-his-name's childhood' had calmed me a bit. I realized though that if I was going to continue my in head reel with commentary I was going to need to learn his last name. Voices complete with low buzzing pulled me back to the conversation.

"Y'all are as crazy as she is!" Merle snapped in a rage. "Cunts already tried ta kill me once an' now tha' she tries ta finish the job y'all wanna let 'er outta the damn cell! Bout as dumb as tha Gov'ner keepin' biters on a leash."

"I'm not sure if trying to kill you should be counted against her. It's one of the reasons I voted to let her out." Sneered the asian kid.

Wow, so far I know that Maggie feels uncomfortable around Merle, and the asian boy hates him. I think I might feel bad for him. It's no fun being the odd man out. I suddenly realize that they are talking about letting me out and I freeze, yanking my head from my knees. Michonne was approaching the cell, looking at me calculatingly. For a moment as she sat outside the door I felt as though she completely understood me. It was fleeting though.

"Everyone besides Hershel leaves, you think you'll be ok to come out of there?" She asked lowly maintaining eye contact.

I looked at her katana longingly, missing the calm that my knives brought me before snapping my eyes back to hers. The last thing the crazy woman needs to be doing is ogling a sword. I start to nod my head yes and then I have to stop. I didn't remember killing those men, and I didn't remember hurting Merle just now, what was to say I wouldn't do it again? Did madness take you over bits at a time? Were the blank spots in my memories spots that insanity had occupied? Great, now I'm thinking of crazy as a separate entity from myself. I should write a book. 'Signs You May Be Crazy'. It would be a best seller, after all, it would be firsthand.

Michonne seemed to sense my hesitance and shockingly correctly interpreted it. "I won't let you hurt anyone."

I eyed her skeptically. She was tall, five seven maybe five nine? I'm fairly sure she could just step on me and pin me in place. The visual made me smile. Aside from her height it was easy to see the strength in her body; she was a survivor. I had very little doubt that she could kick my butt all around the room, and I was positive she would if she needed to. Yes, that did make me feel better. I nodded enthusiastically at her, giving a small grin when I saw her lips twitch, threatening a smile.

Everyone was swiftly cleared out of the room with almost no fight. Almost because of course (and I say of course because as I'm getting to know more about the man, it just seems in character) Merle had something to say. As he ranted about letting yet another 'chink' run around that wanted him dead, Daryl ushered him out of the room. I think I must be incredibly antagonistic towards Merle and I'm not even sure I can blame it on the crazy. It was genuine fun. So, when Merle looked back to give me his last glare before he left the room, I rubbed my neck and then looked up at him with a smirk. His eyes narrowed and I gave him a little mock salute as he turned red and took the last steps out of the door.

I turned to face Michonne and Hershel as innocently as I could but neither of them went for it. Hershel sighed and shook his head while Michonne's lips gave another twitch. It was her eyes though, that gave her away. She had very expressive eyes and at that moment I think that if eyes could make sound, they would be doing the loudest bellyaching laugh you'd ever hear. My crazy is showing again as I picture eyeballs with little hands, laughing and clutching their bellies. I focus on Michonne again and for some reason I'm sure she caught my little slip away from my mind.

"If you're through..." Hershel deadpanned, motioning towards a chair.

I bit my lip. I wanted to see. I knew there was very little chance that they would let me go outside so I motioned across the room to a table and chairs that were in direct sunlight. To my surprise he smiled slightly and led the way over. I wanted to run as fast as I could across the small space just to sooner feel the sun but I forced myself to walk behind Hershel. The last thing I needed to do was act even crazier and startle them. We sat down and _It_. _Was_. _Bliss_. I hadn't realized how much I missed the feeling of the sun. I took simple things like that for granted until just yesterday. How is it that we can still find the audacity to take anything for granted in times like this? Hershel cleared his throat and I quickly opened my eyes.

"I know you probably don't want to talk about this." He seemed hesitant and probably rightfully so; who knew when I would snap?

Michonne interrupted. "Your trigger. Merle triggered you. You want to even walk around this room, much less get your knives back you've got to figure it out."

"Has it happened before?" Hershel asked gently, giving Michonne a look that bordered on reprimanding.

I nodded. May as well get out as much as I can in case I snap again. I opened my mouth and took a deep breath...and let out a large trill. What's a trill? Have you ever seen a horse blow air through its lips? _That_ is a trill. Apparently this was going to be harder than I thought. I tried again. This time, thankfully, words came out.

"When...when it all started. There were men- military. They...they said they had a safe place." I struggled to keep my eyes focused, I couldn't go crazy just yet. "They lied." I had been wrong I couldn't do this. My breath started to come rapidly and my vision blurred between my story and my present. "There were knives in- in the room, they had them." Words began tumbling out of my mouth like a waterfall, jumbled and incoherent, and I couldn't stop them. "I didn't know-I still don't- but they were scary. It had been so long-a long time and it was cold there. It was always so cold. And then there was nothing- but it wasn't nothing...it was red. Everything was red, and-and it was everywhere."

In the back of my mind I huddled in a little ball, scathingly watching myself fall to pieces. It was so...pathetic. I hated this. I hated this feeling. I hated the knowledge that I killed those men. Most of all I hated this...

"I didn't know. They could have been nice, or had a family. I didn't know what they were doing-they could have been good. I k-killed two men and I still have no idea WHY!" I slammed my palms on the table as I shouted. At this moment I loathed myself. I felt tears making tracks down my face and I hated it. "I don't even remember killing them." I whispered as I slumped in my chair.

. . .

Hershel informed me that he would have to tell at least Daryl what I had told him and Michonne. He looked like he wanted to say more but he let it go. Michonne sat there and even though my eyes were closed I could still feel her gaze on me. I cracked an eye open and peeked at her.

"I'm crazy, aren't I?"

She snorted like I was stupid. "We all are."

Well wasn't that a concept. I didn't want to think about killing those men anymore. I wanted to bury it deep in my mind where it belonged. Where it was before. It occurred to me that maybe burying all my emotions instead of dealing with them could be causing my insanity but I waved it off. Insanity was worth never dealing with that again.

"Are they going to kill me?" I wasn't afraid per say, I was more along the lines of curious.

Her eyebrows creased as she looked at me. "Not unless you try to hurt them first."

At that I smiled a little. "Apparently Merle is excluded?"

She scoffed again, grinning slightly. "So am I."

Well wasn't that something. This woman was blowing my mind. I had a small history lesson of sorts from Michonne about the group as we sat there. I have to say, the group dynamics were confusing at best and I was starting to believe Michonne when she said we were all crazy. Rick, at least, definitely was. And it was no wonder. I quickly learned of Merle's kidnap of Glenn and Maggie and torture of Glenn. Also on his rap sheet was the attempted murder of Michonne herself, more than likely the murder of others, holding a gun to multiple people's heads, being a bigoted racist, and finally getting handcuffed to a roof and sawing his own hand off to escape. In all honesty I think I might admire a man with enough brass to saw off his own hand to survive. Even if he is a jerk. Well, I suppose jerk is putting it lightly.

I also learned that Daryl is his younger brother who, apparently, is amazing enough in his own right. Oh, and their last name is Dixon. I wanted to bang my head on the table at this. Of course my crazy would pop in on a perfectly crazy free conversation and remind me I wanted a last name so I could accurately name them in my 'day in the childhood of-' monologues. Michonne looked at me knowingly.

"Don't worry. It goes more often then it comes. Eventually." She gave a half smile as my jaw dropped and abruptly left the room as the other occupants began to slowly filter back in.

Well. Well well well. That was...enlightening. The last rays of sun were fading away rapidly and I, like any good psycho would, ignored the people around me to follow them as they slowly went out a window I couldn't even touch. I let my shoulders slump when I could no longer feel any warmth and dejectedly turned to hide away in my cage before my crazy realized exactly how many people were here...and how many were staring at me.

I kept my eyes glued to the floor in an effort not to concentrate on anyone. That was a bad idea, as it turns out...a really bad idea. The effort I put into pretending there were no people worked surprisingly well. Too well. I ran headlong into a very large masculine body. As good as I had been doing- talking, not killing anyone, just being around people in general, I still couldn't handle physical contact. Lets face it-it _had_ been less than twenty-four hours.

As I would replay the scene in my head later I'm almost positive that Mr. Merle Dixon and I had identical looks of shock on our faces as I shoved my knee into his groin. If the sound and subsequent green tinged face he made were anything to go by I think he was well on his way to throwing up his testes. I swallowed any and all apologies as he sunk to the floor with his hand on his crotch and flew back to my cell. As soon as I was in I went to my little spot and sunk to the floor, wrapping my arms around myself. I wasn't _trying_ to be so insane.

. . .

It was pitch black, once again save for the tiny glow of the lantern, when I left my little corner. No one had locked my cell and I wasn't sure what to make of it. Did they think I was ok? Really? Even if they didn't see me possibly take away Merle's ability to have children I'm sure they heard his reaction. That was proof I was dangerous to others right? I shook my head as I danced lightly around my cell. Regardless, I had to pee and there wasn't a chance that I was going to do it in here. I carefully stepped out of the cell and made my way over to the light. Maybe I could get someone's attention and they could let me out.

Luckily Daryl was standing in the shadows on the other side of the gate. It briefly crossed my mind that he was trying to appear foreboding but I waved it off. He narrowed his eyes at me as I approached the door.

"What d'you want?"

I gave a grimace. Maybe he wasn't happy with me. After all, if I _had_ taken away Merle's ability to procreate the only way the Dixon name would continue would be through Daryl... Maybe he didn't do well under pressure. I'm almost positive I have multiple types of insanity. Ranging from killer to just plain stupid. I shook my head at myself and looked up at Daryl.

"I need to... the bathroom please."

His eyebrows shot up and I'm sure I can see a blush. How...odd. Did he think that all of us over in area ostracize didn't have normal bodily functions? Hmmm, I think I like that- Area Ostracize. Although Merle apparently was part of the original group so maybe only Michonne and I were legitimately ostracized. Merle was more along the lines of an excommunication gone wrong. I was snapped from my thoughts at Daryl's huff of irritation. The door was open and he was waiting to 'escort' me to pee. Since being here my mind seemed to choose the most inopportune time to leave and go on little jaunts without me.

The trip to the bathroom was uneventful and so was peeing. I'm not sure what either of us was expecting. It's not like using the restroom was magically going to be an incredibly interesting experience. Daryl had a knack for awkwardness though.

"Everything alrigh'?" He looked like he wanted to swallow those words as soon as they escaped his mouth. Indeed, I could almost see him jumping after the words and snapping his mouth to make it like it never happened.

I looked up at him and gave a small grin. "Nothing jumped out of the toilet so I'd say it went well."

He gave a small huff of laughter and sent an amused grin my way. "Good t' know." We walked in silence for a moment or two when he gave me a glance. "Hey, kid. What's yer name?"

I must have looked incredibly startled. It was a good thing I had been thinking about this or I might have gone into a melt down. "I like Alice."

He looked at me confused. "That your name or jus' what you wanna be called?"

I shrugged my shoulders. "Irrelevant."

This was it, the moment where he looks at me like the madwoman I am. "Aight." Or not... He continued walking.

. . .

As I sat in my cell thinking about how strange this day had been, I reflected on Daryl's question of a name. No, I didn't know if Alice was my name by birth, but I think it doesn't matter. I remember people hating their names, nothing specific of course, but just the knowledge that a lot of people would rather they didn't get saddled with the name they had. I like the name Alice. Regardless whether or not it was my 'real' name it was what I wanted. And in a time where no one knew you or anything about you, why not? It seems simple but choosing my name made me feel like I had solidified a little bit of myself, some of my self identity.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N- Thank you for reading! And thank you Guest ;). **

**-OhSoOriginal**

**. . .**

If yesterday was to be considered a "good day" then I officially declare today a bad one. It started off with me as a nervous wreck due, at least in part, to my cell door being open. I'm assuming the nervous feeling had nothing to do with Merle and my constant maiming of his person. I slept lightly and sometime during the night I moved my mattress into the little corner I systematically had my melt downs in. It didn't fit very well. It was bowed and lumpy but the small 'hidey hole' that I had made made me feel better. I think this is ironic considering my hate for small closed in spaces.

Tension was high and yes, I understand some of that had to do with me. However, a woman named Andrea came to the prison today. I find it strange that I had not heard anything about her until now. She seems to be important to people here although I can't work out why. I think if she were to kill the man that caused mass mayhem here then I could see her importance. I don't think she will and it bothers me. Hell, put me in a room with the man they talk about and I'm pretty sure I could kill him on accident. I tried to be empathetic but apparently I'm still unable to figure out how. Due to her coming Michonne was angry as was almost everyone else.

My presence, as well as Michonne's and Merle's, apparently caused a slight bone of contention between her and quite a few others. She threw Merle under the bus almost instantly and I'm beginning to realize this is a trend for most of the people here. I'm not sure but I think that Andrea is as crazy as me. When she was informed that I was not allowed outside without a guard (she wanted to 'get to know me') she berated them for allowing 'someone like me' here. Really? Someone like me. Just the phrase and her attitude have me wanting to stab her a few times. I immediately berated myself for thinking things like that.

As soon as she left we sit down to lunch. I'm not sure what I'm supposed to be doing. I can't sit with everyone and thankfully Hershel realizes this.

"Would you like to sit with me outside?" Hershel looks at me with a smile. "I've got watch and wouldn't mind the company."

I smile back and nod enthusiastically. Yes, I would love to be outside. Outside apparently was a long caged in walkway with wooden pallets propped up through the length. It was just fine for now. Especially as I still didn't have any shoes. As I walked out with Hershel Daryl walked in having been on watch prior. The walkway is actually quite large. That didn't stop me from walking along the opposite edge to stay as far away from Daryl as possible.

I feel sometimes like the walls are closing in on me and I have to wonder if insanity creates hallucinations. Do I imagine things like shrinking rooms because I'm crazy? Or is my over active imagination a stepping stone for madness to take hold through? Somehow I feel like this is a chicken or the egg question. Hershel is silent and I'm thankful; I don't know if I could bring myself to pay attention, much less actively engage.

I pick at my food under Hershel's watchful eye. I don't feel hungry but to waste food seems a horrible no-no. I don't pay attention to what I'm eating and force myself to swallow it down, trying not to wince when it feels as though I've swallowed a rock. After everyone has eaten Rick calls a meeting that I am obviously not invited to. He has been conveniently absent since his attempted murder of me. I don't think I should call it that though; it seems obvious he was trying to kill a ghost. By that I mean one of the mistakes that haunts him.

It begins to rain and I follow Hershel inside, stopping as everyone, even Michonne and Merle, head into the other room and leave me here alone. I quickly slip back outside and walk up and down the walkway trying to feel the rain. The metal from the fence obstructs a lot of it though. Suddenly it feels imperative that I escape in a sense. Not the prison or the people, and not to run back to the woods without my knives, but to escape the caged feeling that I've had ever since being brought here.

An idea strikes me and I slip inside and slide into Merle's cell. I have no doubt that he has at least one blade hidden in here. I check beneath the pillow and have to grin- jackpot. It seems a little too conventional of Merle to hide a knife under his pillow but I wasn't going to complain. I carefully checked to make sure that everyone was still occupied and then hurriedly ran back out onto the walkway. After a few minutes of searching I find what I'm looking for; on the far side in the upper right corner there is a small piece of fence curling back from the others. I doubt anyone else but Carl could fit through it and I grin. I'm going to get some clothes that fit.

There is something good and bad to be said about being crazy. The good things? I lived in the moment, I had to; thinking too far in advance would make me melt down. I wasn't afraid like I was supposed to be either. I knew what I was doing-slide through, climb along the roof, find a reasonable down point, and then to clothes shopping. It was actually kind of nice to have zombies modeling them for me. I found two that looked like good candidates and in fairly good condition and went to work. Unfortunately I forgot about all of the other growlers I was going to attract. I didn't have time to take the jeans and t-shirt off of one. That meant I was stuck quickly sliding a dress off the other.

The dress was shockingly easy to get off and I took advantage of the ballet flats she was wearing as well. I eyed her outfit with some disdain- she really chose the worst colors and just clothes in general for the end of the world. What used to be a white sundress and matching shoes is now a dingy tan grey mess complete with slashes of dried blood everywhere. Surprisingly there are only a few rips, including the strap on one shoulder but I'm sure that its fixable.

As I balled up the dress and shoes (no, I was not going to wear the shoes without them being washed) I noticed the bra. Yes, I know it's disgusting but I need a bra, and at this point this woman didn't. At least it wasn't underwear. I shuddered, apparently Carol had carted around a few old things of her late daughters. I was currently using a pair of little girl shorts as underwear. At least they fit like boy shorts but the fact that they belonged to a little dead girl made me feel like a necrophiliac-ish pedophile of sorts. I couldn't wait to raid a store. Until then this stuff would do.

A cold hand swiped near my neck as I came back to myself, attempting to turn the dead woman and get the bra. Great. I yanked hard, wincing as I heard it rip and took off as fast as I could. My over large pants started to slide down my hips. When did this simple trip become so much work? To hold up my pants I could let the dress and shoes go from one hand, I could drop the bra and knife from the other, or I could forget about the damn pants. For safety's sake in climbing I decided to hold still for exactly one second, let the pants fall, and hop out of them to continue running.

Of course once I get to the point where I need to climb I just transfer everything to one hand. Was this part of being crazy or just part of being plain stupid. Was general imbecilic behavior a side effect of going insane or a precursor? Of course I do remember hearing about some psychotic people that were genius so I think maybe I just make bad decisions. My point is proven when I slide back into the walkway. Daryl is standing out in the rain, arms crossed, and a scowl on his face that is all for me.

He reaches out to grab my arm and drag me inside and I panic. I throw myself into the corner of the fence, intent on going back through the hole. He stops abruptly and sighs as he puts his arms down at his sides. It is quite obvious that he is still angry because his hands are clenched so hard they are white. I feel like a child in trouble and I'm torn between anger and terror. He growls and turns on heel, disappearing back inside.

I am going to go for a little while. There is no possible way I can go in there right now and I'm sure that everyone is standing just inside the door waiting. I slide through the hole just as Michonne, Hershel, and oddly enough Merle come through the door. I don't want to be around people anymore, in fact I don't think I ever did. I swing up on top of the walkway and run. I need space and I'm going to get it- whether they like it or not.

. . .

I find what must have been 'the big mans' office at one point and after dispatching the warden, who apparently was dumb enough to lock himself up with with two guards, I look around. Obviously at least one in the group had been infected. The doors were very thick though which I find ironic as I have just managed to break in the window. What good are amazing doors if someone can break in the flimsy outside window? I will concede that the office is on the top floor. It was a simple matter to gather rain water and stop the bathroom sink.

It was strange- two days ago, before I had met all of these people, I couldn't care less about cleanliness. Dirty was actually good as it encouraged the growlers to ignore you. But for some strange reason now that I had gotten clean it seemed imperative that I stay that way, at least a little. I have a feeling I go more mad the less human I feel. Wow. That sounded ridiculous even in my head. But I still feel that way. I used the hand soap in the bathroom to wash the dress, bra, and shoes, getting them all to a passable faded white before conceding defeat. The dresses blood splatters did not come out- they faded to an ugly light brown...I felt my lip curl in disgust. I wring everything out and then hang it as best I can to dry.

I think I must be incredibly morbid for all that I'm insane. I go through the wardens desk and cupboards almost giving up when my hand hits an old coffee mug on a higher shelf and I hear clinking. I grab a chair and grin when I see the mug sitting full of permanent markers, all different colors. I grab them and then decide to look around and see if there's anything useful- if nothing else I'm sure those dead guards have to have something good.

Each guard has an ugly run of the mill handgun with two spare clips. Was that even supposed to be allowed? I didn't know much about prisons but I had always assumed they used rubber bullets like in the movies. Aside from that they each had a baton and taser. I sighed heavily; I should bring this stuff to the people I had run from, even if I didn't like guns they obviously needed them. In that case I needed a bag. Ten minutes later I found a bag and promptly tossed it aside, almost squealing with delight at two boxes I had found hidden in a false bottom of the desk.

I didn't like guns-they were loud, they eventually ran out of ammo, and in general if you needed to brave the risks of shooting you were more than likely surrounded. In that case more were on their way and unless you just run you're dead. If you want to shoot at just a few you're wasting ammo on a job your knife can do. To me dumb either way. Of course if you're trying to assassinate the living they make a little more sense. I think that people just make excuses to use guns. But holy moly, I might make an excuse to use one of these. In the first velvet lined box sat two nickel plated engraved colts with nacre grips. Holy hell these things were breathtaking. And now they were mine. Maybe it's selfish to take two entire guns that I have no intention of ever shooting...but I don't care.

I'm almost worried that I'll find another beautiful set of guns in the next box and that I'll have to chose between the sets. A gasp escapes as I open the lid. Another set of colts sits beautifully but this set is what I believe is called the "Peacemaker" or single action army. What looks like vines and leaves are engraved across the barrel and I think the warden must have liked the nacre grips because these ones had it as well. But the best thing about these guns, to me at least, is the spade symbol at the bottom of the beautiful nacre grip. I grin; I know exactly where these guns were going.  
. . .

It has been at least three hours and its beginning to get dark. I smile as I look at my new dress. It looks more white with the vibrant color I've splashed across it. The blood stains have been colored in with a bright red marker and to me it looks just like paint splatter across a canvas. Along the hem which went just past my knees I had done symbols in thai. I don't want to think what they mean though, I think that may reveal just a little too much of me to myself. Although I think this dress is pretty I'm rethinking wearing it now. It stands out. I don't want to stand out. I sigh and shake my head, maybe I can find the pants I left later... At least now I have a bra and shoes, however impractical the shoes may be. I fold the dress up carefully and slip on the shoes.

I grab the bag I have filled and groan at the weight. The wardens office, while not necessarily a gold mine, had turned up some nice, if heavy, things. At least twenty smoke bombs and twenty canisters of tear gas, miscellaneous boxes of ammo, two sets of handcuffs and keys, two giant tubs of instant coffee, and twinkie's. The twinkie's were mine. And a bar of dark chocolate, a bag of hershey's kisses, and as if all that wasn't odd enough I found baking soda. I don't cook and I have no idea what they could use baking soda for but I figure why not. Oh, I also found two gallon size ziplock bags, one with yeast and the other with what I believe is flour. I'm just hoping I'm not bringing back a bag filled with coke but I'm too lazy to check. My biggest surprise is the giant bottle of whiskey I found. There is quite a bit of liquor here but it seems like overkill to take it all. The warden has an amazing collection of books ranging from classics like Mark Twain to self help. I found one entitled "Dealing with Grief" and I grab it. I also stole the gun holsters from the guards and was pleased to find "my" set of guns has a holster belt in its box. All of this plus my dress, the markers, and every single scrap of paper I could find are now in the much too heavy bag. It's going to take forever to get back.

I lean out the window and figure the only way to get the bag to the roof is to swing it. It was almost a stupid idea as the weight of the bag threatens to pull me down and out of the window. Finally after half a dozen near misses and managing to draw a crowd of growlers below (just to make sure if I survive the fall I'll still die), the bag is on the roof and so am I. It takes me three times as long to get back as it did to get there and I'm starting to get angry that I left my pants somewhere on the ground. I'm tired, it's dark, this bag is looking dumber and dumber and I wonder if I'm crazy to have brought all of this stuff. At this thought I start to giggle and then suddenly I am laughing hysterically. I realize I sound like a maniac and it makes me laugh more. Tears are streaming down my face and my belly hurts from the laughter when I finally stop. I think it's funny that I had forgotten that I'm pretty sure I'm crazy.

I finally reach the walkway and drop my bag with a thunk, almost groaning when I realize the hole is much too small for it. I stand there debating the best course of action when a click sounds below me and a voice speaks.

"What in the hell ya doin' up there? Got a body in that bag or sum'thin?" Merle's sarcastic voice sounds. I'm startled enough that I almost fall off of the fence. I want to scream at the man but I settle for glaring. I then realize the source of the odd click was Daryl's crossbow and I roll my eyes at him.

It takes them some time to realize that I want to make the hole bigger and I can feel the heat in Merle's glare as I pull his knife out to assist. He doesn't say anything and it worries me. As soon as the hole is big enough I motion them away; I'm not just throwing my bag to them and I'm not jumping down when they are that close. Merle rolls his eyes while Daryl just looks exasperated, but both of them move back. It's not far enough and I motion them again, this time they both look agitated. Finally it seems far enough and I slide down.

A loud ripping noise breaks the relative silence and I stare at the edge of my shirt that now is attached to the top of the fence. I can't stop staring. I wonder what it is I'm supposed to feel right now. Embarrassment? Anger? That throw your hands up in the air and exclaim 'of course' feeling? I don't think I feel any of those. I just feel exhausted. Ignoring the ripped shirt that is still partly on me I climb up a little way and yank on the bag. The 'of course' feeling is there as it lands on top of me knocking me to the ground. Merle is laughing loudly and as I get up Daryl looks at me like I'm stupid but I see his lips twitch like he is struggling not to laugh. I give a small grin at Daryl as I stand and surprise myself and both brothers as I slap Merle's hand off of the bags zipper.

Unsure what to do I trudge inside with my bag in tow and rush to my cell as quickly as I can. I sit in my corner and stare at my hand, unsure what to make of this. Part of me realizes that staring at my hand like it has a mind of its own and has personally wronged me is a little crazier than I want to admit I am. From there I begin to wonder what it would be like if our hands really did have brains of their own. What an...interesting concept really. Insane concept? Yes, of course, but a thought provoking one nonetheless. If our hands could think for themselves would they allow us to kill? To steal? To destroy? Would they be able to recognize a path to self destruction, or the destruction of the world around them and stop it? Refuse to shoot that man? Refuse to hit that child? Refuse to set fire and watch the world burn? As crazy as I am I find myself sadly wishing that this was something that was possible. Somehow, somewhere, someone's hands were responsible for the world that was now around us. I continue to stare at my hand as I drift off to sleep, wondering if that person also wished their hands had stopped.

. . .

Merle is glaring at me and I'm close to laughing. I think last night he decided to befriend me and my silence angers him. I think he's even more mad because he is the only one here who hasn't heard me speak. Apparently he hasn't even heard me make any noise. The one person here who I think could kill me without remorse if it benefitted him and I want to laugh. I'm reminded again how mad I am. Daryl and Michonne are openly staring at us and I think they are amused as well. The rest of the group gathers, keeping their distance from me, but I see the way they keep glancing at Merle and I as well.

Rick clears his throat and I realize how angry he is. "Mind telling us where you went." It's not a question.

I get out of my chair and head to my cell, ignoring the commotion as everyone thinks I am ignoring him. I quickly grab both boxes for the four guns as well as the ammo for them and shove them under my mattress. I grab the book and toss it on the mattress for doesn't occur to me that I'm still in my ripped shirt and tiny shorts. As I heave the bag out of my cell I listen as the room goes silent. It amuses me when Michonne gets out of her chair and grabs the bag, letting it thud onto the table. I walk behind her with my head down and give her a nod of thanks and unzip the bag. There are small exclamations as I begin unloading and dispersing the contents. The small armory of sorts is handed off to Rick and Daryl who stare openmouthed. The baking soda, yeast, and what I hope is flour are given to Carol and Beth while the coffee earned excited whoops from the adults. The bar of dark chocolate I handed directly to Michonne and she grinned. Everyone was excited about the bag of hershey's kisses had everyone, even Carl smiling with excitement.

The bottle of whiskey has every male grinning madly, eve Merle, while the paper and markers earns raised eyebrow while I shrug. At the sight of my twinkie's there are a few excited noises and I glare, shaking my head. As I start to crumple the bag to take back to my cell I hear Carol gasp.

"This will look beautiful on you!"

I want to crawl away in embarrassment as she holds up the dress that must have fallen out. I start to shake my head no when a voice sounds.

"Woman, I think we all enjoy the view righ' now. Ain't no reason to ruin i'tall wit a dress." Merle addressed Carol while leering at me.

I looked down at my clothing and grit my teeth as I snatched the dress from Carol and stomped off to my cell. Merle's loud chortling follows me all the way there. I sit in my cell staring at that damn dress before I sigh and put it on- I probably should have been wearing it to start with. I listen with vague interest as Rick announces to everyone that he, Michonne, and Carl are going on a run that will probably last all day if not two. As soon as they leave I grab the "Dealing with Grief" book and hand it to Hershel who looks at me with raised eyebrows.

"Can you please put it in Ricks cell." I ask lowly. I sigh with relief when he smiles and says yes.

I spot Daryl and Merle talking in a corner and I motion them over to me. As soon as they decide it might be worth finding out what I want I start to go to my cell, hoping that they will follow. I cross my fingers that I am making the right choice here. I have attacked both of these men in the past two days and feel like I owe them a bit. Plus I stole Merle's knife. I really should give that back. They follow me into my cell and just as Merle's mouth opens I give the universal shushing gesture with a finger to my lips. I'm nervous. What if they tattle on me? What if they don't like them? What if they decide to just up and shoot me? Wouldn't that be the cherry on top of the irony pie; to be shot with a gun I've found and gifted?

Both men are staring at me clearly waiting to find out why they are here. As I reach under my mattress I can feel the air shift and tension build as if they think I'm going to whip out a gun and kill them. In all fairness I am whipping out a gun but I'm not going to kill them. Both men look confused as I pull out the box with the two spade guns. As soon as I open it they both step forward and I flinch-it's hard enough to have them in my cell, I need them to keep their distance. Luckily they realize this and step back, both giving a low whistle as I hand them each a gun.

"Damn." Is apparently all Merle has to say while Daryl looks at me strangely.

"You jus' givin' these to us?" He asks.

Pleased that they caught on I nod and hand them each equal amounts of ammo. Merle gives me a wink and says something with the words sugar tits and Daryl implies that we will be speaking later. Within moments they are gone and I feel drained. Why are people so taxing? I always feel as though I've run a marathon while bawling my eyes out after I've been around them. Part of me can't wait to leave and escape all these feelings and the other part is grateful for the small amount of normalcy being here affords me. I end up staring into space and drifting off. Hopefully a quick nap will help.


End file.
